


The Purple Nails Of Sex

by TheGirlWithTheBrokenSoul



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, F/F, Ficlet, Fluff, Jawn Watson, No actual sex, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, fem!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWithTheBrokenSoul/pseuds/TheGirlWithTheBrokenSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Based on BBC Sherlock)<br/>This is a Fem!lock Ficlet based on my own experience. Jawn Watson gets caught admiring Sherlock's perfect purple nails and when Sherlock leaves to wrap up a case, she tries her hands at it with a purple bottle of nail polish she finds in the Bathroom.</p><p>This is most definitely fluff.<br/>I'm not a good writer and that is more than evident.<br/>but I tried and therefore no one should judge me.<br/>Also the nail polish is obviously the color of the  infamous Purple Shirt of Sex hence the title.</p><p>I own nothing but am only borrowing and will return upon request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Purple Nails Of Sex

Sherlock's very odd when she's on a case. Not much talking. Of course, when she does choose to talk it's normally on the verge of yelling, if not actual yelling. Also insults, there are many of those too. I try to keep quiet and out of her way. Normally in my sitting chair with a book or at the table with my laptop writing a new case on our blog. It's hard to tell whether she just wants my attention or whether she's just so deeply concentrated that she doesn't know how bloody distracting she's being. Like whenever I am recording our latest adventure she tends to come and sit down at the table across from me and just tap her fingers. On the table. Repeatedly. For long periods of time. It's quite aggravating but I always get distracted looking at her long perfectly plum purple finger nails hitting the table imitating a horse running. How does she get her nails so cleanly painted? I always get frustrated not of the noise itself but how perfectly her nails look. She doesn't go to a salon, Of course she doesn't. She doesn't even get her hair cut at one. She has Mr. Hudson do it. 

Before I even have a chance to realize it, Sherlock catches me staring at her finger nails. “Jawn,” She starts, the annoyance is ever present and I snap myself out of it before she kicks me out of the flat again. Thinking. Because this flat's only big enough for one person's thoughts at a time. “Yes, Sherlock?” I say trying to regain my composure. “You're thinking again, Jawn.” We've had this conversation too often. “So?” I say instantly regretting it. I don't want a fight. Not tonight. “about what Jawn. What are you thinking about.” your thinking annoys me. It didn't need to be said. We both knew that my thoughts did not pertain to the case and it was just best to get it out of the way. “I was just admiring your nails. How do you get then so perfectly painted?” I asked as even voiced as possible. She could have given me a number of replies and depending on which tone she used, I would know if I'd be spending my evening at Tesco's again. “ I don't go to a salon, if that's what you're implying, Jawn. No, I do them myself.” She said with her aggravated tone and we let it go. Then she was up, and the chair she previously resided in was on the floor. Neither of us bothered with it because she was rushing around the flat grabbing things and speaking at top speed. She took her phone from the couch and started texting “You won't need to bother meeting with Mycroft about the case. I'll do that for you.”. She went and picked up her coat and left the flat. Impulsively, I yelled “We're out of milk!” but the door to baker street had already closed by the time I spoke it. One of these days she'll do it.I chuckled looking back down at the laptop and the scene in front of me. Her behavior should bother me. Her tantrums have become and normality and that should scare me more than it does. I picked back up the chair and finished up the post and after checking it for spelling errors, I clicked “publish” and closed the laptop. In the peace and quiet I resumed my thinking and it drifted back to Sherlock's purple nails. How on earth does she get her nails so perfect. I found myself tapping my nails now too. “Damn it” I said. I'm gonna do it. Sherlock's room is ungodly neat and it horribly contradicts the way she treats our sitting room. I'm going to get my ear chewed off for being in here. A voice in my head warns me. Oh well, I won't touch much. I just want the nail polish. I won't deny it when she observes that i've been through her stuff. Now where the hell does she keep her nail polish?She might not even have nail polish. I ignore the doubt-filled ideas. The bookshelf! It's not there. The dresser? Not there either. Oh! I saw the truth to Sherlock's insult. The loo, you idiot! Sure enough it was there, the purple bottle of nail polish, Behind the mirror. I closed the door and sat down. 

I couldn't remember the last time I painted my nails a dark color. I shook the bottle and started painting. I got through one hand before I realized that I messed up on all of them. “Damn tremors” This is the reason I had to go into the Infirmary. Couldn't hold a straight aim. I start smiling and I reach for the nail polish remover from the counter. Oh, that's why I don't paint my nails dark colors. I said looking down at my now clear fingernails but with purple polish stuck between where the skin and the nail meet. Shit it won't come off. I froze and listened. Sherlock would be home soon and I'd never hear the end of it if she caught me trying to copy her again. Memories of me trying on the identically colored collared button down shirt came to mind and I remembered the look of Sherlock in my 2 sizes too small for her jumpers and chuckled. 

I felt her beside me. I didn't need to look up to see the smug look on her face. “How long have you been there, then?” I said surprised at how even my voice was. “Oh well, 'damn tremors' I believe.” The smug tone spread through the room and turned my cheeks a bright red as I stared at the evidence. there was a moment of silence. Then I heard her sigh and she grabbed my hand. “Come on, We'll see if the salon is still open”. I couldn't help but smile as she pulled me through the flat.

THE END.


End file.
